


I'll Give You a Daisy a Day

by Lov_pb



Series: Animula [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Non-Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4193442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lov_pb/pseuds/Lov_pb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Animula is an AU slavefic where men diagnosed with the “animula gene” are enslaved by society. They are identified by the development of metallic gold rings that form around their irises.<br/>Previously, Elizabeth had purchased Peter from Renner’s Corporation. They both understand their happiness and Peter’s well-being rests on a razor edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Give You a Daisy a Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is an auxiliary chapter to Tigeress79’s fascinating story, “Animula”:  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11291157/1/Animula  
> http://tigeress79.livejournal.com/528.html
> 
> Big thanks to Tigeress79 for being my beta.

Folding the reusable grocery bag, Peter left Elizabeth’s apartment building and walked two miles, past neighborhood coffee shops, fruit stalls and business establishments. As he approached the abandoned one-half acre site where a factory once stood, his apprehension increased two-fold. 

With Elizabeth’s standard permission note in his pocket, he was relatively safe from legal persecution, but there were always gangs of riffraff that might find it amusing to make sport of an unescorted Animula. Although feared and shunned by most humans, he was vulnerable to the violent fringe of Manhattan. No one would offer protection to a pariah. It was safer to be off the streets but, on the other hand, Peter never had chosen the safe path. 

Attacked and thrashed in the past, Peter adamantly refused to accept the alternative. Hiding from a society that deemed him inferior was not an option. It frightened and pained El, each time she discovered he had gone out alone to travel the streets of NYC, but she understood his need for a modicum of independence. 

Elizabeth’s love and admiration, for him as a man, prodded Peter past the rusty, broken chain-linked fence bordering the front of the empty property, into the garbage-strewn, dirt-filled vacant lot. Flagging his attention on past neighborhood walks with Elizabeth, the isolated wildflowers bloomed in the rocky terrain. 

Reading up on the phenomena, Peter surmised the lot had been earmarked for a flower farm some idealist had failed to turn into a vibrant green space. With the success of consumers buying locally produced food, many New Yorkers were attempting to set a trend for locally grown flowers. Instead of taking on the expense of growing large flower farms, they planted wherever they could, be it vacant lots, backyards, or unused soil. Emerging green organizations encouraged people to turn neighborhood lots into community gardens, composting sites and even small parks.

Centuries prior, Manhattan had become an urban jungle. A safe haven for flowers and Animula did not exist. The reason for animula enslavement and the disappearance of native plant species had the same causal factor --- humans. Failing to recognize the impoverishment of their world, Peter had no hope he would live to see a change. The burst of color, however, amid a gray concrete landscape had briefly captivated him. He would be happy to offer a temporary haven for the few floral remnants languishing in the dirt. 

Minute particles of organic material, remains of discarded food items of coffee grounds, vegetable peels and similar plant fertilizer, laid scattered under his feet. The animula wondered what happened to cause the dreamers to abandon their project. Discovered using the property without permission and been told to leave or had they just became tired of manual labor? No matter, their handiwork had allowed a small group of flowers to continue to flourish. Mostly covered by trash and weeds, the captivating colors peeked out in vibrant shades. 

Peter wanted to purchase a gift for the love of his life. Slavery’s decrees had relegated his options to words of endearment, household chores and a now growing list of home-cooked meals. Intent on circumventing the box holding him captive, he was determined to find Elizabeth a delightful surprise; one that would appeal to her feminine nature. Once his eyes caught hold of the flowers he knew what he had to do. 

Peter was on a mission; a dangerous mission to be sure but one he had no intention of failing. The stage was set for action. 

It was dusk when Peter verified the neighborhood street was relatively empty. Quickly wandering through the abandoned site, staying low to the ground, he alternated between casting vigilant glances at the sidewalk and snatching up stems of flowers. Careful to not bruise any of the delicate petals, he placed them gently and neatly in his bag. 

The small mixtures of flowers seemed to begin whimsically calling his name. He chuckled to himself.

What kind would El like? 

Amid the surprisingly small area, he noted assorted varieties of butterfly weed, daisies, buttercups, Black-eyed Susans, mountain laurel, and ferns. Caressing some of the buds with his fingers, they reminded him of Elizabeth; gentle yet strong and beautiful to behold. 

Is this what a human experiences when they purchase a gift? 

It was a heady sentiment. A smile again crossed Peter’s lips; he realized he liked the emotion and slowly relaxed his vigil. 

Within minutes his eye caught on something---not an image but a moving shadow. 

Was someone watching him?

Snapped out of his reverie, Peter turned instantaneously. Gaze fastened on the line of the fence, he saw a man in the shadows eying him from the sidewalk. He slowly stood up, stretching and straightening his sagging shoulders. In a tense pose, feigning nonchalance, Peter placed the last of the flowers in his sack. Reminding himself no one at this distance could possibly note his golden irises, he carefully turned his face to the side preparing to slip out of the vacant lot.  
Be careful, he cautioned himself, just step out beyond the fence and walk away. 

Peter hadn’t come this far to place El in jeopardy or be thrown back in the Market. He had read the laws safeguarding native flora and rare plants. He knew there was an Endangered Species Act for flora and animals but, of course, none for his kind. 

Was this shadowy figure some green-growing Nazi or just a nosy citizen? Steeling his nerves, Peter edged ever so silently as far away from the gawker as possible and cleared the fence line. 

“Them flowers sure are pretty,” said the man. 

Keeping his head down, Peter nodded slightly, noting the age and attire of the individual; fifty-something, soiled and odorous. Briskly walking away, praying for the best, he expected a hue and cry to begin at any moment. 

No alarm was raised. 

With the grocery sack tightly clutched in his left hand, Peter turned the corner and began running. A few blocks away from the lot he paused, slowing down to a safer stride. The fates were against him today. Scarcely had he turned the second corner, when he saw a New York City policeman crossing the street ahead of him. 

Ducking into a deserted storefront, fearing confrontation, he leaned back against the wall. The law officer continued on his way, passing by him on the opposite side of the street. Whistling a loud tune, without noticing the Animula, the man swung a sheet of papers in his hand. 

Peter panted from exhaustion and trepidation. Looking down at the bag, his mouth twisted into a frown, his hands still trembling. For a brief moment he felt an irrational and unfamiliar sense of personal accomplishment. It had been a foolhardy escapade but he did it. He had a flower arrangement for his girl; a beautiful gift from his own hands, not purchased with someone else’s money. 

Elizabeth was waiting, at the apartment building entryway, by the time he arrived back home. 

“Hon. It’s getting late.” Elizabeth declared sharply, a hint of fear creeping in her voice. 

Peter failed to reply, maneuvering the grocery bag behind his back.

“I wasn’t sure when you’d be back,” she added, modifying her tone and stumbling over her words. “Are you hungry? It’s dinner time.”

“You were worried.” 

“You think?”

“I’m sorry, El. You know I hate to upset you.”

She sighed and reached for his left hand. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs and have dinner. I made your favorite meal.”

“Wait. I have something for you.” 

Spying the bag peeking out behind his back, El blinked, bewilderment evident. 

“Did you go shopping?” she asked in disbelief. She recognized how improbable and dangerous that was. 

“No, I wasn’t shopping. It’s a surprise.”

Peter pulled her up the stairs and into their apartment. When he raised his eyes, he gave her that grin that thrilled her. El wished he would smile like that more often because his golden eyes shown with excitement, giving him a carefree boyish look, erasing the pain that often lingered there.

He turned his back, fumbling with the grocery sack. Turning around, Peter displayed a bouquet of slightly crushed wild flowers in his hands. 

“These are for you, hon. I picked them in a vacant lot,” Peter added, keeping the harrowing details to himself. 

El was momentarily speechless.

“Let me go get a vase.”

Elizabeth watched Peter rush into the kitchen and place the flowers in one of her ornate glass containers. Carrying them proudly back into the living room, his nervousness over her lack of reaction to his gift, becoming more evident.

“They remind me of you,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Quoting from Dior, Peter continued, “‘After women, flowers are the most lovely thing God has given the world.’”

“These are beautiful, Peter. Thank you.” The gentleness in her voice threatened to undo him.

“You like them? You’re surprised?”

“I’m surprised,” El answered, shaking her head and smiling, reaching for the flowers. She hid her fear and anger, knowing he put himself in danger over wildflowers. Wildflowers! She didn’t say anything to destroy his moment. El understood what it meant to him.

“And I love them. But Peter, you have to know…my greatest gift is having you in my life. That’s all I ever want.”

Peter cupped her chin and tilted her head toward his.  


“I love you, Elizabeth Mitchell,” he whispered.


End file.
